


Requiem

by BurnWithinTheseFlames



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurnWithinTheseFlames/pseuds/BurnWithinTheseFlames
Summary: "You are a sight for sore eyes, Gandolf." Frodo turned as the wizard started, nearly knocking over the glass of mulled wine before him. No, despite the softness of that laughing voice, this was no Elf of Rivendell. With a rustle of floor-length grey robes his friend stood to greet the woman standing in the doorway. Lord of the Rings (movie/book) x Inuyasha. Rating to change.





	Requiem

_*You fool, you wanderer*_

thoughts

***** mental conversations *****

**amplified thoughts/meanings**

****** _Different language / not "human"_ ******

* * *

**A Prologue**

**TA 2933 (Middle Earth)**

_I have almost forgotten how beautiful this place was._

Pulling on the reins, slowing the mare to a stop, breathe plumed as she considered the valley beneath the narrow outcropping. From this vantage point, high above, all seemed dark and ominous. The thick forest canopy below to hide many secrets. The shadowed mountains that rose above on either side were as unforgiving as any further to the north. Below came the roar of water, the heavy rumble of unseen falls. Mist filled the air.

Yet the lingering aroma of wood smoke, cedar mixed with hickory, tickled her nose. It was faint but, at the same time, potent. The smell sparked a surge of longing through her veins. A memory of dinners served hot. This deep within a mid-fall dampened forest it was not a smell most would expect. Not when the winter was fast approaching; a time when only the foolish and the brave sought shelter in the wilderness.

It was promised sanctuary and there was nothing else she would rather do than curl up and sleep through the upcoming winter. She was exhausted. Five nights and five days she traveled, resting only when she could go no further and even then for an hour or two at most.

But the summons was something that could not be denied.

Still it was late. Far later than she had assumed. Overhead, a bare sliver of silver, the moon loomed through the heavy cloud cover. In its filtered glow came lurking shadows where there were none and light-speckled paths appeared that did not exist. Was there any wonder that over the years many had been led astray? Some may be found come morning. Others were not so fortunate.

While beneath her, recognizing the scent of the forest, Rosroch [Red Horse] shifted impatiently.

The mare was fleet of foot and smaller than animals that others usually used but underneath the light burgundy fur the animal was composed entirely of wiry muscle and very little fat. She was of  _Bloðorn_  stock and though the sooty red coat was too poorly marked to be of pure lineage still nothing to be cast aside. This breed of horse went were asked. The heavier horses of Men were meant to stay on the plains and the surefooted ponies favored a forest no more than their Dwarven masters did.

_Easy my darling,_  a gloved hand settled on the sloping arch of the neck,  _soon we will both be sleeping as if dead._

A soft crunching sound, it would have been inaudible if not for the night's shadowy quiet, caught the mare's attention and she followed the pricked ears. Azure eyes shifted underneath hair the color of a wet raven's wing, a deep blue-black, as they searched the forest. She had the sight of a human being but instinct told her that no longer was she alone. There were eyes in the forest watching and those curious gazes belonged to no mere animal.

"Vedui' maethor Q Rivendell [Greetings warriors of Rivendell]," there was no hesitation in her words though this was by no means her native tongue.

If anything the forest's silence seemed to deepen as if she had spoken some grave insult rather than a greeting. Anyone who knew no better would have turned tail and run. With good reason. Though this place was considered far and wide to be a Sanctuary, the protection of said sanctuary was the upmost importance to those that had the ability to defend it. Anyone with ill intentions would find themselves facing a rather rude welcome. If not death.

"Le nathlam hí [We welcome you here]," the voice was light, lifting, as if the speaker was moments from laughing.

"Glorfindel," the name escaped her lips even as the elfin warrior seemed to materialize out of the very gloom itself at the edge of the forest. The paleness of his skin and the newly spun gold hue of his hair, traits of the ancient Vanyar elves, were as identifying as the aura that surrounded him. "Nae saian luume', hîr nín [It has been too long, my lord]."

She had missed him as she'd missed Rivendell. She was far more far-flung, less willing to stay, than the elves who had fostered her in her new life. For though she was still of the race of Man she had long since ceased to be as short-lived as her brethren. But then there were few even among the elves like Glorfindel. He was powerful in his own right. But then he had not just died in battle against a balrog many centuries ago but been revived by the Valar themselves.

"Hiril vuin (my lady)." Impossibly pale blue eyes considered her, "Tolo, mado go nin [Come and dine with me]."

It was well past the dining hour but someone would find some food, if nothing more than fruit, was more than appealing. "Diola lle [Thank you]."

* * *

**Scene / Character Change**

Gilraen's lips parted, to make the request that the Elfin Lord before her disguise her son's true identity, but the words seemed to be stolen from her throat as a knock came from the heavy oak door. She wasn't sure how but the knock was both soft and also firm, one demanding to be answered even at this almost outrageous hour. It caused her to start though she should be, by rights, at ease. The Lord of Imladhras had promised that as long as she and Aragorn remained within the confines of Rivendell no harm would come of them.

"Come," the male's voice was deeper and more full-timbered than what could be expected of the fair elfin race. A discreet reminder of the fact that the Lord of Rivendell was Peredhil, or half-elfin.

"Le hannon, Heruamin [thank you, My Lord (familiar)]." The speaker was in possession of a softer toned voice, elfin. But the figure that pushed open the heavy door and entered was something else entirely.

Though dressed like the warriors who had ridden escort for herself and Aragorn, in leggings of jade streaked with a hint of russet brown, and a shirt that seemed to be composed of dozens of colors this was no male. The traveling cloak wasn't quite enough to disguise the swell of feminine curves. Or the elongated bladed weapon that hung from the belt at the female's waist. Where Gilraen had never used a sword in her life this female stood with the confidence of someone at ease, trained. It wasn't too surprising. Her husband had told her female elves fought readily alongside their male counterparts.

Brown eyes raised to the other's face and her breathe caught.

For this was no elfin warrior, male or female.

The features were elegant, fine boned and possessing a light brown complexion that had nothing to do with the summer. Black hair was bundled hastingly atop of her head, loose strands falling against her shoulders. At a distance, dressed as she was, there was little denying that such a being could be confused among the elfin maids that had tended to Gilraen since she had arrived. But this close there was no denying that this female was a member of the race of Man. A woman, a female Man.

Even as he spoke the Lord of Imladhras rose from behind his desk. Tall, taller than her husband had been, and robed within the rich brown and pale tawny that made midnight black hair and fair skin ever more striking, he cut an impressive figure. His hair was braided and kept away from his almost alien youthful face. There was something about Elrond Peredhil, or Elrond Half-Elven, that demanded both respect from anyone who encountered him.

Or in the case of fear for Gilraen when she had first met him a week ago through one of his advisers, a dark haired elf named Erestor. She knew that it was he she and her son owed their life to. But the Lord of Rivendell had been cold to their plight. He was cordial but there was little warmth. But then why would there be. Her husband was but a far distant relative. And a mortal's life was so very short to an elf.

"Arwenamin [My lady]," one graceful and long-fingered hand to capture the woman's in a welcoming grasp.

It was such a fleeting change, pale gray eyes darkening briefly from the chill of an exposed blade to the richer hue of a summertime storm, that had she not been watching this strange pair so intently from upon her chair Gilraen may have thought her mind playing tricks on her. She wasn't fluent in Elfish like her husband and yet she still caught the words  _Gwannas lû and_  as well as  _fasta_  in the pair's quick conversation. And yet there was something about this interaction that reminded Gilraen of the times she had greeted Arathorn after some long-going absence.

But then, with a ghost of a grin touching her lips, the woman turned aside to that she was facing where Gilraen was sitting. Underneath the cage of her ribs, Gilraen could feel her heart stop and then begin beating again. Striking alone in their color the blue eyes that considered her seemed to be measuring Gilraen. Weighing her against some sort of an invisible scale. Briefly she wondered if this was how a rabbit felt under the gaze of a hungry wolf.

"Ista peded edhellen? (Can she speak elvish)?"

"Lau (No)."

The grin widened, a smile that just reached those too-blue eyes. "I apologize for Lord Elrond's in not introducing us. But it has been a long while since I have stepped foot within Rivendell. Please tell me your name?"

Gilraen hesitated but then her upbringing, her training, kicked in. Standing, however, proved to be a mistake. Whatever strength had assisted her so far seemed to fail her within the next beat of her heart and darkness descended.

* * *

**TIME SKIP – Morning, Imladris**

Gilraen woke with a start, green eyes flashing open. It was the fact that a ceiling, a soft mauve instead of the cream of her own household, instead of the open heavens and stars that greeted her confused vision which kept her from leaping from the bed. Her mind whirled trying to figure out just what had happened. She was exhausted to an extent that she had never been before, even as the wife of a Ranger, and her mind had just simply decided to shut down. Unable to handle anymore.

But as she laid there memory began to take shape. Of the death of her husband. Of the slavers who had come into the village looking for anyone that they could take away and sell. Though her husband had defended the village itself on many occasions the others did not care. She was an unmarried woman with a child, they did not want to be responsible. She remembered Estel's crying for the boy had not understood what was happening.

She remembered the screams just more than seven moons ago when the elves had fallen upon the slavers.

With them had come a pair of hunting dogs unlike any she had seen before. The heavy pelt was the molted grey, black and brown of a wolf's fur but it was no wolf. It was leaner than a wolf. Long of leg with a broad skull and heavy muzzle, one of the canines had pulled a slaver from his horse like a cat plucking a bird from a branch. The other dog, a beast missing its right eye, had separated Estel from his slaver.

She had seen her husband at work before. Gutting animals for their food. But she had never seen him attack another humanoid, even an orc. She had been in shock when all was said and done. The elves themselves had only assured her they'd come to help and then remained quiet too.

A soft whine tore at her and she bolted into a sitting position her heart thudding like bird's wings against the cage of her ribs. Ah there. Sprawled across the marble-like floor was the great one-eyed dog. He was stretched out like a rug, his head tilted so that she could just catch a glimpse of the intelligent amber eye, the long tail thumping once against the ground. The dog had taken to hounding her son as if he was one of the canine's own pups and even now laid within arm's reach of her son's cot.

"Don't worry," the voice was soft and came from near the doorway, "for someone to touch your son they would have to kill Gwân (pale/fair) and he is no weakling."

Green eyes lifted only to meet a pair of striking blue.

Gone was the stained leather jerkin and pants replaced by a silken robe the color of pale cornflower blue. It served in lightening the dark blue to a sky-hue. Now in the light she could see sharp cheekbones and a full mouth. The black hair was draped over right shoulder so that the end brushed the upper half of the breast. A simple gold necklace wound its way around the woman's neck crowned with a spherical globe at the bottom that would be the size of a child's fist.

As the daughter of the former village head, Gilraen felt both terribly exposed and underdressed. "My lady…"

"Don't," a hand raised to amplify the command, "please. Titles are not needed."

"But," her mind flickered through the meeting interrupted last night, "certainly I must know your name."

A black eyebrow rose and Gilraen caught the ghost of that smile, "I am afraid that if I told you my name you'd faint once again."

Gilraen felt heat flush her skin. "I am terribly sorry."

"Don't be," a soft laugh escaped, "Peredhil has a presence that is sometimes too much for even lords and ladies of Men to stand."

"But your name?" She frowned. She knew that Peredhil it was an insult to the Lord Elrond's half-blood heritage. But the way this woman spoke it, it was almost like a nickname given between friends.

"I once went by another name but most call me Kagome Andúnië (Sunset)." The name held no meaning to Gilraen. She didn't even know if the first part was Man or Elfish or some other language entirely.

Another tail thump and it dragged Gilraen's eyes to the dog, "what is he, I've never seen one like this before."

"A  _Rŷn."_ There was no hesitation over what could be only an elfin word.

Gilraen's eyes went back to the woman taking in those eyes. They bespoke of a greater age than she had first thought. "And you are not elfin?"

There was another laugh, "no. I am like you, entirely of the race of Man. I just age much slower than a mortal should."

* * *

 

.

* * *

 

_Bloðorn_ \- Old Norse - Blood-Eagle. Dale Horse but the "sooty red" (= dun, roan or dappled bay) marks her as not a purebred animal.

 

_Gwannas lû and -_ It has been too long/a long time has passed

_fasta_  - pleased

Rŷn - Sindarin Elfish - Hound. The books mention how the elves once hunted a sort of dwarf [smart 'animals'] and this gave rise to Rŷn. It is similar to an Irish Wolfhound but the modern-day Wolfhound [the breed nearly went extinct 150-200 odd years ago] may be smaller than the feared dog of lore that could take on a wolf alone or pull a man from his saddle. The Rŷn is thus bigger [/heavier].

.

The Elfin dialects may be mixed up to be similar than one dialect alone. 


End file.
